


Breathe

by Soulkit



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Character Death, Drug Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Stream of Consciousness, Very AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5953258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulkit/pseuds/Soulkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a beautiful tragic nightmare in this city they made their own and it will never end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

The train rattles through the station and the clock ticks past the hour and a mass of black and grey and white rushes out open doors as another mass of black and grey and white – drowning in water, _drip-drip_ against the cracking concrete smeared with mud and the sticky residue of spilled soda – pushes and shoves to get on. The voice over the intercom cracks and speakers distort the words until they come out cold, mechanical, broken down to the basics.  
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


_(This is the train that follows the tracks to nowhere and everywhere, regurgitating faceless masses and swallowing another load as the city goes round and round and spins and pulses to a thousand different beats.)_   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


The city is drowning. The taxi seats are covered in plastic that sticks to his clothing. Smoke drifts back from the front and the driver grunts something, swerving. He stares out the glass and wonders what was gained in denying his own comfort. The watery windows distort the scenery and the dying neon lights are formless blurs of colour, red-green-yellow-blue-purple-white – and then there is nothing, music breaking against the door and splintering, loud, foreign, a jumbled mess of words and beats and screams.

_(I can look after myself._

_Sure thing, kiddo._

_Fuck off.)_

It is night-time and the city dies as it comes back to life again. Men in suits with ties wrapped snugly around their necks disappear into doors beneath flashing lights and women walk the sidewalks and their stilettoes go ‘ _click-click_ ’ against the slippery ground. One falls and he laughs as she clambers to her feet and her fishnet stockings are ripped. Ash floats on a small puddle and boys plastered with make-up and girls high on powders and pills run through cigarettes and bottles of beer hang from fingers smeared red and lighters flicker in the doorways.

The door opens and the air is wet, heavy with decay and sin and life. Suits and briefcases pour out from a hole in the ground and the city shudders and drops another level.  
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


_(Hello – welcome – are you here to stay? Right this way, sir, take the elevator, it goes much faster.)_   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


There is a needle in a plastic bag in his pocket and the tip bleeds red and _drop-drop-drop_ the cap is full and it spills out. Underground, the air tastes stale and filtered, artificial. Fluorescent lights flicker on-off-on-off-on and the metal bench against the wall is damp and cold.

Money burns a hole in his pocket, bills neatly folded in a black wallet of ash. It is an old station, one ATM shoved next to the staircase next to newspapers and vending machines. A man feeds the machine a card and it is spit back out but there are no bills and the woman with painted red lips and manicured hands purses her lips and white-knuckled hands grip the strap of her purse.

_(I can get more!  
_

_And where have I heard that before._

_You’re talking to the king, baby, there ain’t anything I can’t do._

_Funny. I can think of about twenty things you can’t do right now.  
_

_Ugh, I just need a little more-_

_-time? Forget it, Jack. I’ve wasted plenty on you.)_

Wet. He can smell the water on his cheeks and falling down the stairs and a dying ember tumbles down and a girl stumbles down, thin t-shirt plastered to her bones. Blond hair sticks to orange-yellow skin and the light of the train washes her away before she is ever real.

The clock strikes eight-nine-ten. The train rattles by and it is dead, hollow with empty windows.

Rhys sits on the bench and watches the staircase and waits and life blurs around him.  
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


_(The door is wide open and there is a sliver of light on the peeling wallpaper and the shabby carpet. Walk in. Sit. Watch._

_The television is already on. It drones in the quiet – war here, terror there, and a teenage girl lies dead somewhere with a pocket of white and a bag of thin sharp metal and smoke curls around her body from the cigarettes burning a hole in the floorboards.)_   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


Midnight. The fairy-tale trembles and shatters. The music pours out loud and fragmented and the air sinks with heat and water and sin. The neon flickers through the rain and the city flies into delirium, shadows crawling over asphalt, a secret buried in the back-alleys where men prowl with cold hands.

He runs. Stumbles over the trash swept to the wide of the road and falls neatly into the ground, down the tiled off-white stairs. The dream is dying, the wind rushes past his ears, and he shoves plastic into the hungry mouth of an old tired machine and curls into the bench.

_(It wasn’t your fault._

_Then whose fault was it?_

_I don’t know. And neither do you. That doesn’t make it yours by default._

_I’m her… I_ was _her father._

_And I think there’s a sell-by date for blaming your parents for how messed up you are. She was an adult. She made her own choices._

_… Don’t you fucking dare talk about her like that.)_

It is very late. It is very early. Give and take, fire for smoke for fire, and “Hello” dissolves into the smoke and floats up into the air, slams into the metal of the passing train. “Goodbye” sounds that much prettier.

One man breathes in and the other laughs.

One man breathes out and the other laughs.

There is a mirror on the far far wall, smeared with fingerprints. _(Watch, look, see, so eager, so wanting, watch yourself beg for me.)_ Their reflections blur and waver around the edges.  
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


_(One fine day in the middle of the night. Play a game – six pence and a pocket full or rye you have nothing to lose – face each other back to back, draw your swords and shoot. The barrel of the gun is cold after the heat of smoke and lips press against each other in a clumsy kiss._

_Bang._

_Empty. A needle presses icy against blue lines.)  
_

०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


“Do I know you?”

Shrug. Inhale a mouthful of wispy patterns in the air and breathe it out. “Does it matter?”

The policeman stumbles by, tripping over plastic bags, onto the train. The chick with the hat laughs and her leg catches in the door and rips. A cigarette goes flying and it lands on the scrap of wet denim.

“Not really, no.” His cigarette is dying. His lighter blooms fire and it licks at white-and-brown and he lets his cigarette burn between his fingers until the ashes brush against his skin.

_(That’s bad for you, you know._

_I do know. I also know it’s hot._

_It_ is _fire._

_You know that isn’t what I meant, Rhysie._

_… Yeah, it is hot. Come here.)_

The smoke that curls around them is heavier now. Two men in an underground room with pockets full of burning money are easy to overlook but he still looks around. His hand trembles.

“Want some?” Smile. Rhys knows that expression, knows the quiet stupor that will be in the other’s veins and how it’ll pulse lazily as his fingers close around the smoking joint but his lips still say no.

Choke. Sputter. Cough. His outrage is a dull imitation of the lightning and thunder above ground and it dies. Does the smoke slip and slide through his veins like it does Jack’s, steal into his heart and lungs and mute the world?

“Sure.”

He has never truly said no.  
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


  _(“Would you like to dance?”_

_There is no music but it does not matter because the city has a beat of its own, erratic and chaotic and foreign. It is starting to die but the walls and the floor still hum with it._

_There is a beautiful tragic nightmare in this city they made their own.)_   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


Time blurs. The rain is starting to die once more and the train comes rattling past and its doors are open, inviting. _Come_. Jack’s fingers burn around his wrist and they both go, down down down the platform. It is a very empty train. There is still smoke in his chest and it curls lazily and burrows deep. The doors slide shut with a hiss of air and there is a finality in the click when they lock that Rhys does not recognise.

Something plastic is in Jack’s hand. The lights dance wildly and walls close in and start to crush – _what_ – but the train is out now and the cigarette is in his hand – hand-rolled, not store-bought, but who cares anymore? – and Jack’s lips are warm and soft and he tastes of smoke. Another breath of it. Mismatched green and blue burn dark behind the hazy grey floating in the air. _  
_

_(You shouldn’t have let them know that. Gotta stay inconspicuous._

_What I_ should _have done was not pull the trigger in the first place._

_That’s what you’re worrying about? Nah, he deserved it._

_…_

_… Hey- it- … you know I didn’t-_

_I know, Jack… I love you._

_… Love you, too.)_

“You left this behind.” His voice laughs at Rhys and his eyes swirl behind the smoke. Take another mouthful and breath it in and the joint is hanging from his hand again and the train is rattling into another station. Rain has drowned this one.

The third kiss tastes of smoke and poison. Swallow. There is a little pill somewhere in that smoke and it slides down Rhys’ throat and it should be a concern but the last of the second cigarette tastes of fire and smoke and the third one even more so.   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


_(The mirror is fogged and cracked. There is a needle in the sink and a vial on the counter._

_There is a trail of wet clothing from the door to the shower – who follows these pebbles? – but even now there is smoke in the air and it does not matter. Rhys cannot breathe. Jack cannot breathe._

_The water runs hot but the tiles of the wall are cool and they slip and slide against it and the smoke fills their lungs and curls in them.)_   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Ash scatters across the yellowing linoleum of the floor and the stub of a cigarette rolls into the corner when the train jolts to a stop. The last of the cigarettes is burning through the seat covers and the stench of burning plastic is killing the haze.

_(Stop. Don’t go. Not yet.)_

The train rattles by and the concrete pillars of the platform shake. No smoke. No fire. Jack’s eyes are bright in the gloom of the empty station. Can he feel it yet, nervous energy in his veins, blood boiling? The pill slips easily from Rhys’ mouth to his.

_(Swallow.)_

The technicolour brilliance of the fading posters and the muddy steps dissolves in the rain and vague twisted shapes in red and blue and yellow take its place. Girls with melting make-up painted over their faces and women playing dress-up with the children grab at Rhys’ shirt, at Jack’s. Rhys lets Jack cling and moves forward.

_(No. Not interested. Get away. Don’t touch me.)_

Jack’s words disappear in the wind but he still laughs and collapses against a car and his eyes burn bright. “Hey, hey, let’s go somewhere fun!”

Grin. Rhys’ fingers twitch and his hand trembles and the memory of smoke rolls over his tongue. “Sure.”

Glass-like-snow covers the sidewalk and the street. There is exhilaration in Rhys’ veins and the world is full of bright muted swirling colours tonight. The city shudders beneath their feet

It screams. No-one is there to listen. No-one cares.  
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


_(Something wails far behind, snarling flashing lights glued to a vulture. The windows are broken and rain pelts the seats and the car swerves left and right and leaves behind a mess of twisted metal and blood-smeared asphalt._

_This is art. This – laugh and scream in exhilaration and let the world collapse and dance to the ruinous beat – is life._

_The car explodes before it runs off the road into the murky river. No more fire. No more evidence.  
_

_Laugh and swallow technicolour packed into small white pills. “Let’s do that again.”_

_“… Sure.” Breathless laugh. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. The world seems small now, crushed into plastic bags._

_This nightmare grows and twists and the city screams and writhes. Smile for the camera. The white door swims and the hallway is long and dark and very empty.)_   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


There is a reflection in the mirror behind Jack. Rhys’ eyes are Jack’s eyes are Rhys’ eyes – blue-brown-green-blue all blur into one – but this mirror is a broken one. It must be.

Their eyes are very empty. They shatter and there are empty vials on the floor and tiny bags full of white powder and smoke curls in the air once again. It makes hazy indistinct patterns.

_Can you breathe it still?_

Jack’s fingers fumble on tiny black buttons and they rip off and scatter over the carpet. His belt disappeared beneath the stairs. Rhys’ is thrown over the ceiling fan. The tip of an empty needle scores a long thin line of red down his chest.

 _More._ Each breath tastes of smoke and poison that curls in his veins. It is hard to breathe around it. “More. Now.”

Miss the vein. Brilliant sharp pain shoots up Rhys’ arm. Familiar. This is how he lost it before. Jack’s weight is heavy on his legs. Smoke travels from Rhys to Jack and the needle is empty and stupor swims in his veins and drowns out everything else. The carpet is soft and Jack burns against him.

Scream. More. _More. MORE._

The drawers are very empty. Take another cigarette from the pile and dip it into the fire and down a glass of cold water.

More. _Please, I want more._

Something roars in the distance and the lights of the city are drowning in it. There is a roiling black wave hovering somewhere outside.

_(You can see it, can’t you?_

_… I’m scared._

_… So am I.)  
_

०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


_(There is a train that rattles down old metal tracks to oblivion in a dream. Inhale and exhale and let the ashes fall wherever. It is the night before the morning after the end and the world is a fragile place in our hands._

_Someone screams outside. Eyes close and the nightmare becomes your dream to make.)_   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


There is a man with dark brown hair and blue and green eyes. There is a man with light brown hair and blue and brown eyes. They overlap, blur together and come apart, and leave behind bits and pieces of themselves in each other. White powder lies scattered over the floor and the cigarettes are crushed and smoking and there is a broken vial in the corner and an empty needle in a cup.

“Hey.”

It’s very quiet. The rain falls loud and a door is opening somewhere. “What?”

He cannot breathe anymore. The air is heavy and it starts to crush and the cigarette smoking on the table and the needle on the bed are very bright in his eyes.

“… What’s your name?” He sits and leans against the wall and the world spins. The needle falls and pricks his hand.

“… Wondered when you’d ask.”

“I do know you… don’t I?”

One man hands another a smoking cigarette and steals a breath of smoke in a red kiss. The other smiles very emptily and his eyes are broken mirrors.

“… I’ll give you a clue. Starts with an R.” Breathe in and out, shallow and slow. The rain is very loud now.

One more breath. His eyes slide shut and never open again. The cigarette burns to ashes in his hand.

The room is very empty.  
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


_(Pause. Stop. Fast forward._

_Play another game. This nightmare grows with time and the tragedy is only half-complete._

_The barrel of the gun is cold after the smoke. It is hard to breathe and hold the gun in place, the weight of another man with dark brown hair and blue and green eyes heavy. There are two reflections in the mirror and one is an imperfect copy of the other. His lips are soft and smoke curls in his mouth. He coughs._

_Bang._

_His hands are very warm and red. He smiles and smoke curls from the barrel and the cigarette burns pale skin and the empty vial cuts it open and it weeps red._

_What?_

_Did you think there would be a happy ending?)_   
  


०౦ംഠ० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०ം◦∙ **× ∙◦** ം० **҆** **'** **˚** **'** **҅** ०౦ംഠ०  
  


There is a train that rattles shakily along metal tracks that lead to everywhere and nowhere, in a living dying city that spins around and round to a foreign chaotic beat that pulses heavy and loud.

Take it in. Hold it. Remember, when the nightmares comes.

Breathe.


End file.
